tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60054029825914675652024-02-02T01:09:46.813-04:00I am a sandwich artistmarebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-28787888389212721092009-12-06T21:05:00.001-04:002009-12-06T21:22:58.609-04:00Or maybe it's that bottle of rum I had for dinner! *hic* How YOU doin', baby?Sometimes I am happy.<br /><br />A lot of the time, I'm not. Most anyone who knows me would tell you I am not a happy person. They'd say I'm moody, prone to temper tantrums, quick to sulk and form inexplicable grudges, almost psychotically self-deprecating, and that I cry like a little bitch when I'm stressed. And they would be right. Especially about the crying like a little bitch part. Man, if there were one emotional response I could train myself out of, I'm telling you.<br /><br />But sometimes, for no reason at all, or for a lot of little reasons that might not seem to add up to very much at all, I just feel so - content? Glad? I wouldn't say I wouldn't trade lives with anyone - give me someone without student loans or what I shall only refer to as "the monkeyhawk profile" - but, you know, sometimes it isn't so bad, being me. I've got some pretty rad friends, some nifty interests, a little bit of skill and/or talent, and a sense of humour. And even though I have seven papers to do that I should be working on <span style="font-style: italic;">right now,</span> sometimes, that's enough.<br /><br />Now if I could only stop ordering delivery pizza! Hahahahahaha!<span style="font-size:78%;">ohgodpleasehelpitisanaddiction </span>marebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-51369039176651271302009-09-28T16:30:00.000-03:002009-09-28T16:44:01.345-03:00All I can smell are tomatoes.So a couple of days ago I got an email from the campus bookstore telling me I had won a door prize during Student Appreciation Day. Cool, I thought. Maybe I had won a sweater. Or maybe a gift certificate. or, I don't know, if I wanted to get really pathetic, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">keychain</span> or a pen. The prospect of this mystery present was enough to drag my exhausted and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">fluish</span> ass out of bed and ten minutes down the hill today so I could claim my prize. After all, I didn't want them to give away my sweater to someone else.<br /><br />It was a five-page pack of specialty printer paper that self-adhesives into a little booklet for presentations.<br /><br />I don't even own a printer.<br /><br />I struggled back up the hill - have I mentioned my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">fluish</span> ass? Complete with aching thigh muscles? - and ducked into the cafeteria for some supper. I decided on pasta with tomato sauce, and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">popsicle</span> to sooth my scratchy throat. (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Fluish</span> ass? Ringing a bell?)<br /><br />At which point I spill the plate of pasta with tomato sauce into the ice cream cooler.<br /><br />A scraper from the grill may have been commandeered to chip it out.<br /><br />Needless to say, prying at hunks of frozen pasta with tomato sauce quelled my appetite. I settled on a muffin and some fruit and walked further up the hill to my dorm.<br /><br />The overhead light has burnt out in my room<br /><br />And I left my umbrella at the bookstore. Which is closed for the day.<br /><br />...<br /><br />*headdesk*marebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-69348848737340017672009-09-28T08:55:00.000-03:002009-09-28T09:32:35.039-03:00Spectacular Spice RackYou know, I don't enjoy suffering from chronic insomnia, mostly because it makes me miss classes and sleep in until four in the afternoon like an unemployed deadbeat (which I guess I am as I don't have a job and am massively in debt), but I do sort of like the feeling after pulling an all-nighter. It's what I imagine being drunk or high or possibly both must be like - you feel disconnected from everything around you, yet at the same time feel greatly amused. Like the world's a joke you have to condescend to without letting it know you're laughing, because then its feelings would be hurt.<br /><br />And I'm sorry if that's not making sense, but I watched a <span style="font-style: italic;">lot</span> of <span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Men</span> yesterday and I think it's affecting my speech patterns. Why was there so much <span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Men</span> on yesterday, anyway? Do they do these marathons every Sunday, or was AMC just like, oh, we've run out of movies, let us show back-to-back hit drama while we cook up another batch?<br /><br />BTW, according to <span style="font-style: italic;">Mad Men,</span> the 1960s were about:<br /><br />1) Smoking<br /><br />2) Drinking<br /><br />3) Adultery<br /><br />4) Really pretty dresses<br /><br />5) Joan Holloway<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUNdd4APhIULB3GGTza24dr6_8HEw10bbgpksrfyvYkmmjxMpy4hz1GIlI-rkNaubDMRFMsaxyAVeGM55AviDSb7qVgl0qnqCPx7NMAdIKyzjfHHPOfuztepvCHALUelHgwhAtUAzDF4/s1600-h/joan.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcUNdd4APhIULB3GGTza24dr6_8HEw10bbgpksrfyvYkmmjxMpy4hz1GIlI-rkNaubDMRFMsaxyAVeGM55AviDSb7qVgl0qnqCPx7NMAdIKyzjfHHPOfuztepvCHALUelHgwhAtUAzDF4/s320/joan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386494161818746802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:78%;"><span><span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Damn, Girl!</span><br /></span></span></div><br />SERIOUSLY. I don't easily recognize a person's attractive qualities, but her rack is actually a RACK. Not to objectify a woman based on her breasts, but I'm pretty sure I could use her décolletage to keep spices on as I cook. AND THEY WOULD STAY THERE. It defies physics, it really does.<br /><br />Plus she has red hair. I miss having red hair. I think I might dye mine again once my Sheer Blonde shampoo runs out.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have sex with her. But I would be very nice about turning her down. And then I would try balancing something on her spectacular cleavage. Probably a cat.<br /><br />I promise to take pictures! Dude: Cats 'n' Racks.marebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6005402982591467565.post-18879089040281832252009-08-14T21:24:00.000-03:002009-08-14T22:02:19.343-03:00The Seventeen Essentials<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Last Sunday, I went with my writing group (a) to a writing retreat (b), where I wrote very little (c) because I had writers' block (d) and none of my current plots were interesting me (e). However, I did admire the wild bunnies (f) and ate more than my share of the strawberries in the fruit tray (g). And I talked about crazy internet fandom happenings (h) with some new acquaintances (i). Later that day, I attended a meeting of my knitting group (j) at Reads Newsstand (k). I worked on the beaded scarf (l) that I've been fiddling with since May (m). I also paged through a book of patterns (n) someone had brought with them and made a mental note of several projects (o). Arriving back home three hours later, I watched disc two of season six of The Simpsons (p) instead of going to sleep (q).<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />This paragraph of events tells you Seventeen Essentials of my character:<br />a) I have a writing group, comprised of several awesome individuals, each more talented than the last.<br />b) We often go on adventures together, sometimes even wacky ones.<br />c) Though I belong to a writing group, I don't write very much at all.<br />d) This is because I suffer from crippling attacks of writers' block.<br />e) Which occur whenever my interest fizzles out on a plot (this happens a lot).<br />f) I am a lover of animals in all shapes and sizes. Except for rodents. (Except for hamsters.)<br />g) I loves me some sweets - fruit, pie, cake, or cookie. Usually the higher fat content ones.<br />h) I am a lurker in several online fandoms, most notably Doctor Who and Torchwood. I like to share my stories of batshit fanwank.<br />i) I have wildly inapproriate conversations about said fanwank. It's fun!<br />j) I knit and crochet, with more enthusiasm than actual skill.<br />k) I loves me some coffee.<br />l) I love projects that are beyond my skill set.<br />m) My attention span wanders off before most projects are finished, but I'm a stubborn lass who will force herself to knit with the fiddlest mohair if she's got it in her head to do so.<br />n) My bank account does <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> love pattern books, but I most definitely do.<br />o) I have more ideas than time or money for projects.<br />p) The Simpsons is my one true love.<br />q) I am a dedicated insomniac.<br /><br />Oh, and that I am writing about last Sunday on the following Friday is a special bonus Essential: I couldn't be on time to save my life. Hence the first post in this blog appearing nearly three weeks after I registered it.<br /><br />You should probably get used to that.<br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div>marebearhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15272646342113538964noreply@blogger.com0